


gotham city laundromat

by Mr Numbers (venetianAnarchist)



Series: nygmobblepot shite [1]
Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Developing Relationship, Ed loves Oswald, Eventual Smut, First Meetings, Fluff, Gay, M/M, Maybe - Freeform, Not Canon Compliant, Nygmobblepot, Oswald Loves Ed, Riddles, THIS IS A HAPPY FIC, i'm in denial, kind of slow burn, maybe slight dubcon??, oswald is a gay little fuck and he knows he loves it, what is this
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-16
Updated: 2017-02-16
Packaged: 2018-09-24 23:26:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9791789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/venetianAnarchist/pseuds/Mr%20Numbers
Summary: A violently-inclined crime kingpin with an unlikely name. A murderous nerd with a love for riddles. A shitty laundromat. Happy coincidences. Barely disguised homosexual behaviour.Or, the laundromat au that no one asked for. You're more than welcome.





	

**Author's Note:**

> So !! This is my first attempt at writing these boys and despite knowing them oh-so well, I still haven't quite got the characterisation down. I never write canon characters because I'm shit at it, but I just need (relatively) pleasant and sweet Nygmbobblepot and I figured I should help myself out. I'm also a slut for Oswald being really fucking reluctant to give up his control and then loving it when he does, because that's relatable and I'm gay. So I did that. I did the thing. 
> 
> I feel like I'll update this sometime this weekend? I'm messy and unpredictable as fuck so good luck with that one lmao. Currently I'm thinking this will have three chapters but who am I to dictate the direction of my own work...

Edward had never been in a laundromat at this time of night. As a matter of fact, he’d never really had to use a laundromat at any time of day, having his own washing machine and all. It couldn’t be helped – the water in his apartment had been turned off for maintenance and there was nothing Ed hated more than unclean clothes.

For the twenty-or-so minutes he’d been there, not a soul had entered or exited the building. It was entirely quiet but for the rolling hum of the machine and the distant wailing of Gotham sirens. He smiled. Couldn’t be Gotham without them, really, the sirens. It was always nice to have some background noise.

Regardless, the place had an odd atmosphere.

Kenopsia, he thought, with a self-satisfied smile. Having a cultured and eclectic vocabulary was very important to Edward Nygma. Almost as important as having a cultured and eclectic moral sphere. Both made for a very interesting person, and being an interesting person was always what one should aim for.

It was as he dwelled on this particular thought that he heard the rusted tinkle of the bell above the laundromat door. And then again, and again, and Ed turned towards the sound to see if there was suddenly copious foot traffic or if the door was simply stuck on its cheaply-maintained hinges.

It was neither.

A man – he assumed – was halfway in and halfway out, attempting to push the door ajar while carrying – dragging? – a plastic bag of what seemed to be very unkempt clothing.

The man himself looked surprisingly well dressed, but it was hard to tell when he was practically rattling with frustration. Edward admired his persistence as he sat atop one of the many machines in the centre of the room and did exactly nothing to help him. Besides, it looked like he’d made it inside now, and finally the door shut and the frightfully cold air from outside ceased to blow.

Ed gave the man a bright smile.

The man didn’t smile back.

He stood in a way that was clearly meant to balance his weight to one side, giving him a crooked stature that was almost as endearing as it was unflattering. His clothes were almost comically extravagant, if slightly dishevelled, and very well fitted. His hair had a similar gist to it, and it was almost artful in its wildness. His skin was alabaster pale and he had a dusting of freckles that were somehow made more noticeable by the ruddy blush on his face – probably from the cold, and whatever emotions he was feeling post-battle-with-the-door.

Ed guessed that he had been having a very eventful night.

Had he not been thoroughly engrossed in analysing his new acquaintance, and also entirely socially unaware, he might have noted the silence.

The newcomer did, apparently.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Said newcomer asked, eyebrows furrowing slightly, holding his plastic bag protectively.

Ed blinked, smiled brighter, and resettled himself on the washing machine, unmoved by the reproachful stare and defensive tone. “Is that blood on your clothes?”

The other man balked. He set his jaw, seemed to want to take a pace back but refrained from doing so. “I can take my business elsewhere if you can’t mind your own.”

There was something utterly enchanting about the way he spoke, this funny little man in black and white and purple, and Ed welcomed the distraction from the tedious passing of time spent waiting for his clothes.

He cleared his throat.

“What goes round and round, but never moves?”

“Is this – are you asking me a riddle?”

The corners of Ed’s mouth twitched and instead of offering any sort of answer, he adjusted his glasses and continued to stare expectantly.

After a long moment of hesitation and a slow blink that could only be interpreted as frustration, the other man let out a sigh. “Um, a clock?”

This gave Ed pause. “Yes,” he said, nodding slowly, pensively. “But the answer I was looking for was a washing machine. Do you get it?” He chuckled merrily, entirely uncaring that no one else seemed to be amused by his jokes. It was lonely, being intelligent.

“Right,” came the response, and Ed got the distinct feeling that the smile he was being offered was not exactly friendly. He returned it wholeheartedly anyway. “If you don’t mind, I’ll be leaving.” The other turned on his heel – crookedly, almost comically – and Ed, either not understanding or choosing to ignore the dismissal and false cheeriness in his tone, decided to extend the hand of friendship.

After all, it wasn’t every day you met someone with a bag of bloody clothes and a limp so pronounced that there just had to be a story there. Ed was a fan of stories.

“If you soak fabric in cold water first, bloodstains are easier to remove. If you’ve got time on your hands, that is,” he slipped off the washing machine, long legs easily reaching the floor, and turned so that he could properly face the other man. He felt he’d do better with this one if he let the real Edward Nygma out of his cage a little. It was so much easier to reign himself in these days, but boy did he love letting loose. His new friend looked like he could benefit from the same. “Which I assume you do, considering you’re here. Instead of burning evidence, or whathaveyou. It doesn’t look like those are cheap, either.,” he gestured vaguely to the plastic bag, a more subtle, controlled smile on his lips.

The change was instant. Ed watched as the other man swallowed, glanced towards the door, shifted his weight ever so slightly – gingerly – and then met the other gaze with hardened blue eyes. Resolve and understanding. “Oswald Cobblepot.”

He took a pace or two forward, extending his unoccupied hand, and Ed rounded the rows of machines to take it and give a firm shake. “Edward Nygma, at your service.”

“Edward Nygma. E. Nymga?” Oswald smirked. “It’s a pleasure.”

Deciding that he’d managed to convey what he wanted to convey, that they’d reached some level of mutual understanding, Edward stood back and smiled, regarding Oswald with undisguised interest.

“May I enquire, Mr. Cobblepot, if you’re the man I’ve heard so much about? Penguin?”

His new acquaintance made a face. “It’s The Penguin. Thank you.”

Edward looked absolutely overjoyed. This really was turning out to be an exciting evening! There really was no mistaking this man, he decided now, with his attitude and his clothes and the limp. And, well, the blood, really. That was definitely a clue. Ed loved clues.

He looked on as Oswald popped open the nearest machine, and delicately removed his bloodied clothes from the bag. He then placed them in the machine, and began fiddling about with the dials. He was very careful with them, loving, even, and Edward could respect that. Though he was sure he’d never owned anything as expensive as the ruined materials Oswald was attempting to save. He wasn’t exactly a man of fashion, if he was going to be entirely honest with himself. And Ed was never anything if not entirely honest.

Most of the time.

Oswald leaned against the machines then, and Edward joined him, watching the water spin with vacant interest. He regarded the other once more, after a moment, studying the sharp lines that his coat cut and the expressive angles of his face.

“You’re a very interesting man, Mr. Cobblepot.”

He watched as the other’s lips quirked slightly, the soft bat of his eyelashes. He then turned to better face Edward, and there was a moment in which neither said a word. “I believe it would be utterly obtuse of me to avoid asking you what your angle is here.” He paused a moment to allow Edward to grin at his play on words. Edward liked wordplay. “Your comment, earlier, regarding… stains. Care to elaborate on your knowledge, Mr. Nygma?”

“Ah. I’m glad you asked.” Edward grinned the widest of grins, and glanced over towards the machine containing Oswald’s clothes. “I’ve been going through some changes lately. And, since you asked, I will elaborate.” He took a deep breath, flexed his fingers, then looked Oswald in the eye. “I’ve started killing people.”

There was something about the delivery that made Oswald look somewhat taken aback, despite himself. Ed watched with curiosity as he blinked away the surprise and managed a quiet snort. “Well, we all have our vices.” The smile he gave then, a taut little thing that was clearly being subdued for Oswald’s own preservation of his image, made Edward feel as though he was really connecting to someone, for once. It was a nice feeling.

“And what are your vices?” He paused, watching Oswald’s expression. “If you don’t mind my asking.” There was definitely something about Mr. Cobblepot, something in the way he held himself despite his limp and despite what was likely spine-crushing weight on his shoulders – what with being a notorious crime boss – that made him unfathomably intimidating, and Ed could respect that.

The other man swallowed, eyes slightly distant. Considering. “I may have to contradict myself. I find that it becomes somewhat difficult to maintain vices if you nurture them like I have done. If bloodshed is in the job description, then who am I to call my tendency towards it ‘immoral or wicked behaviour’.”

He gave Edward an indecipherable look, and Edward found himself leaning back ever so slightly. Very interesting, and very dangerous. Edward had an inquisitive nature, sure, and while it had gotten the best of him many times over, he could clearly see that Oswald Cobblepot was easy to underestimate, and he’d made himself an empire using that. Edward wouldn’t make the same mistake that others had, he’d see this man as the dangerous creature he was. He’d be the moth that hung around the flame, appreciated its warmth, and avoided the flames with careful vigilance.

“Understood, sir.” He stated simply, feeling the Penguin’s gaze on him even as he turned his attention elsewhere. He knew he could benefit from a possible friendship here. Even those on the wrong side of the law needed alliances, after all. Friends in high places, and all that.

There was a silence for a moment, as Oswald inspected his fingernails, and Edward glanced towards the machine washing his own clothes. He hadn’t been in any hurry, so he’d set the timer for a long wait.

“Do you like riddles, Mr. Penguin?”

Oswald didn’t look at him as he returned, “I don’t like riddles.”

Edward was disappointed. He frowned slightly, momentarily stumped. He usually had something witty to say, regardless of the situation. Then again, few people were so honest. He wasn’t sure if he liked it or not.

“You can have me but not hold me. Gain me and quickly lose me. If treated with care I can be great, and if betrayed I will break. What am I?”

The Penguin sighed, closed his eyes and rubbed the bridge of his nose, and Edward found himself watching in fascination, because he knew he shouldn’t have asked, and the man before him was as unpredictable as he was complicated. It was refreshing. Exciting, even.

“It’s- it’s got to be metaphorical. Is it love? Friendship?” There was something like exasperation in his tone and Edward found it a little endearing.

He grinned. “Close. It’s trust.”

“And the purpose of asking me this was what, exactly?”

“I trusted you with my secret – the killing people thing.” He gave an airy laugh. “I want you to know that you can trust me with this whole situation.” Ed gestured to the washing machine, eager to get his point across. “And I think that we might be able to help each other out. We're both good at what we do, after all. You have the resources and I’m a fast learner.”

This made Oswald turn to face him front-on, his expression entirely unreadable. “I knew you had some sort of aim here." He let out a long-suffering sigh. "Listen, I’m not recruiting. I really have no use for you. And while I am flattered, you have to understand; you’re not exactly as _qualified_ as the men I usually hire. I haven’t even heard of you! Which, I mean, might be a good thing in some professions. But I like a certain level of… Notoriety, when it comes to the people that kill for me. Fear really is good for business, what can I say?”

Ed wasn’t sure whether he should be offended or not. He bit his lip, regarding the other with conflicted emotions. There was something so incredibly cock-sure about the way he spoke, something dismissive. If he had a penny for every time he was spoken to like that…

Maybe he just had to prove himself to Mr. Cobblepot. A little demonstration on how serious he was might just do the trick!

And so it was with a startling level of control that he snapped into action, going from reclining, immobile, to pushing off the machine, flashing one hand out to snatch Cobblepot by the throat, and careening a fist into his gut.

It caught his target by surprise, and there was nothing he could do about it. Ed felt, in that moment, that it would be so impossibly easy to kill the notorious Penguin right here, right now. Just squeeze a little tighter. Watch the fight leave his eyes like poor Ms. Kringle.

The desperate curse of the man in his grip pulled him, suddenly, from his thoughts, and he slackened slightly, leaving a very angry, and very afraid Oswald drawing breath frantically as though he’d just resurfaced from the ocean.

“Whatever you think you’re doing, I suggest you stop it, right now. And I might just let you live.” The Penguin snarled, sudden courage fuelled by rage and indignation.

Edward didn’t think he would stop, however. Mainly because he hadn’t made his point – Edward loved making points – but also because he was absolutely positive that if he did let Oswald up now, he’d end up dead, one way or another. “Listen, Mr. Cobblepot. I can show you, I can help you. I’m smart enough to do whatever it takes. I think you could do with someone like that, don’t you?” He could feel his other self taking over, and he didn’t try to stop it, he didn’t want to. There was hardly a distinction between the two, anyway. Not anymore.

It was always fun to take control of a situation.

He pressed Oswald back against the washing machine, and leaned in nice and close, close enough to whisper in his ear. He could feel Oswald quivering, with fear or anticipation he didn’t know.

“Are you listening to me?”

“Yes.”

“Will you give me a chance to prove myself?”

“Y-yes. Fine. Just leave me alone, god!” Oswald’s voice cracked, and he inhaled sharply, nothing but a bundle of limbs and a rapidly beating heart beneath Edward. He decided he rather liked Oswald that way, dishevelled and pliant and soft. Ed was standing between his legs, and it struck him how intimate this moment could be, if interpreted a little differently.

He grinned to himself. “I am just two and two. I am hot. I am cold. I am the parent of numbers that cannot be told. I am a gift beyond measure, a matter of course. I am given with pleasure when taken by force. What am I?”

Oswald went entirely limp then, and Ed could feel him shiver ever so slightly. The last bit of fight in him. The last bit of tension. He leant in a little more, let his breath ghost over Oswald’s collar, gaze zeroing in on his pulse point. He watched it jump, felt Oswald exhale so very shakily. He wasn’t attempting to push him off, and Ed wondered at what point the other had begun to see this is as less a threatening situation and more a sensual one. He barely had time to stop and question what this meant in regards to The Penguin’s sexual preferences, let alone his own.

That goshdarn throat just looked too tempting.

He didn’t consciously remember deciding to bite down, but it happened, very quickly and very bloodily.

He felt it against his lips and tasted the hot metallic tang, heard Oswald’s frantic cry as he struggled and groaned and still made very little attempt to really remove himself from Edward’s grasp. Licking his lips and pausing a moment to admire his own handiwork – not deep nor direct enough to be even remotely life threatening, but certainly enough to leave a lovely scar – he shifted himself to look at Oswald’s face.

“I genuinely didn’t intend for things to go this way.” He admitted, watching as the other lay there quivering, breath coming quickly, head turned with his eyes closed and teeth gritted. Ed admired him for a moment, taking a very specific pleasure from having reduced Oswald to such a pitiful state.

After a long moment, he leant down once more, revelling in the way The Penguin flinched away from him, and pressed a soft, bloody kiss to the other man’s lips, answering his own riddle. The throaty, soft sound of alarm that Oswald made was muted by Ed’s own lips. Ed could only grin when he broke away to find Oswald instinctively chasing his mouth, eyelashes fluttering against his flushed cheeks. He looked almost pretty.

Yes, Ed thought, this was definitely an improvement on how he’d expected his night to go.

Standing up straight once more and smoothing out his clothes with all the casual confidence of someone who had not just been licking sensually into another man’s mouth, Ed collected himself and allowed Oswald enough space to get his shit together. Ed himself apparently needed no time at all, already poised and prepared as always.

Oswald made an utterly wretched sound and managed to sit up, legs hanging over the edge of the washing machine as he attempted to right himself. He looked entirely unsure of the situation, clearly not knowing whether or not he was supposed to attack Edward or please him in some way, for the sake of his own wellbeing.

The silence was interrupted by the sound of Ed’s machine, coming to a loud stop. He considered things for a moment, glancing at his clothes and then at Oswald. “Is this your laundromat of choice, or did you just happen to come here tonight?”

Oswald blinked. “I frequent this establishment. It’s always empty at this time of night.” He informed Ed, as if he hadn’t thought about a word of it before it left his lips. He seemed to have surprised himself, as he clamped his jaw shut immediately afterwards.

“Oh, good. And is Wednesday typically your laundry day, if there’s anything… incriminating to deal with?” Ed asked, tilting his head to the side and smiling like an absolute angel despite everything. He found he was enjoying this a little too much, especially when Oswald seemed to choke on his own tongue and had to look the other way, nowhere near confident enough to look him in the eye. God, it felt good.

Apparently deciding that speaking wasn’t really working for him tonight, Oswald kept his lips sealed, partly defiant and partly too exhausted to bother. He brought one hand to his collar, cringing when he felt the wound, then pressed his sleeve against it in an attempt to stop the blood.

Ed watched with an enthralled kind of interest, instinctively running his tongue over his bottom lip as he savoured the taste of Oswald’s blood. Apparently that was a thing he was into. He smiled a little at that. It wasn’t as though he’d had all that many chances to find out what he was into. His lips twitched nearly unnoticeably as this thought led down the inevitable path; he’d never even thought about men in such a way.

That was a conversation to have with himself another time.

“Mr. Penguin?”

Oswald continued to dwell in silence, cold blue gaze finally meeting Edward’s own. Ed grinned. “It’s only appropriate to take your silence as a yes. Which isn’t something I’d normally do, by the way. I think consent is important.” He took a very small pace closer to Oswald as the timer went off on the machine again. “So, think about it. About me. Would you? It’d mean a lot if you could get back to me soon. And in the meantime, I’ll be sure to really prove I’m up for the task. I really do think we could help each other out.”

Oswald drew a steadying breath, clenching his jaw. “I’ll be sure to do that, Mr. Nygma.”

 

Edward barely registered the tinkle of the bell as he left, nor the slow creak of the door closing behind him. He hunched his shoulders instinctively against the cold, clothes bundled neatly into the basket in his arms.

He glanced at his sleeve when he saw a fleck of red, and let out an irritated sigh when he noted the few smears of blood against it. That’s what he got for rushing these things, he supposed. At least that gave him even more reason to show up – prepared – next Wednesday evening. He hoped Oswald would be expecting him this time.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks v much for sticking through to the end. Please tell me what you thought! It'd be much appreciated. <3  
> \- Numbers


End file.
